


12DaysofJATP - Surprises

by LWhoScribbles



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Christmas concert, Family, So grumpy, but then, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWhoScribbles/pseuds/LWhoScribbles
Summary: 12 days of "Julie and the Phantoms"!Carrie hates surprises.
Kudos: 10
Collections: 12 Days of Julie And The Fantoms





	12DaysofJATP - Surprises

Carrie hates surprises.

Presents, she likes, sure.

But, like, she wants to know what it is. She wants to have picked it out in the color she likes with custom accents and the right amount of sparkle.

Because otherwise what’s the point? Why would she want something she doesn’t know she likes and goes with all her other stuff?

And DON’T even bring up _surprise_ _events_!

Honestly, she does not want to even think about wasting time somewhere she doesn’t want to be. Not to mention she needs time to prepare if she’s going anywhere. She likes a concert or a party just as much as the next girl, for sure, but ASK first! Was that really so hard? Preferably a week in advance. She might want to get her nails done. Two weeks would be ideal, so she could book her stylist and rearrange her training schedule, too. Maybe a month, because she’d have to coordinate the girls for their practices. Oh, and homework.

She had priorities.

So when her father drops in when he’s _not supposed to be back from tour yet_ and wants to WHISK HER AWAY when she’s _CHOREOGRAPHING_ for her Valentine’s show in just _two months_???

OH MY GOD, DAD, I LOVE YOU, BUT WHAT.

He’s so unprofessional sometimes.

“Listen, Paul, I know this is last minute, but ugh! You know how Trevor gets. Mm, mm-hmm, yeah. Okay, you’re a doll, thanks, hon! Yeah, I’ll text the girls. Ciao!”

Trevor watches in baffled fascination. When had his baby girl started talking like his first agent? Why had his princess become a ‘ciao!’ girl?? He sighed. He supposed it was probably all the parties he took her to as a child. To much exposure to The Life.

“Baby,” he said, trying to get her attention back away from the breakneck flurry of activity his daughter had flown into.

“Yes, Daddy?” she doesn’t even look at him, her thumb nails tapping on her phone screen like a gatling gun of communication.

“Its just a couple of hours? It’s a Christmas concert?”

“Mm, yeah, Dad.”

Trevor shakes his head. He needs a smoothie and to meditate. This girl is his light and his heart, but she can really do a number on his energy. He leaves her to make her arrangements.

Carrie is frankly disgusted with her options. She hasn’t had a chance to shop for her usual holiday ensemble (god, she’s at least a week behind after the disaster this year has been) and now she’s expected to pull together a Look for some random Christmas concert lord knows where? Her dad hadn’t even bothered to say. Not that she couldn’t, because she absolutely could and would—but to have to go back through the outfits of past years and still be presently chic? A challenge. Maybe she’d go Christmas campy? It was certainly _a_ look. Classic starlet with a seasonal sway? Timeless. And if she knew anything, she knew there was no such thing as overdressed.

She’s debating a soft gloss (Snowflake) vs a bold lip (Notorious), or maybe layering the two when her dad knocks on her door.

“Sweetheart, you ready?”

Damn, out of time. She does a quick swipe with one, touches with the other, and drops them both in her clutch.

“Set.” Carrie walks out of her room, giving her father her best red carpet smile, confident she’s prepared for anything.

She was not prepared for a local theater in the Valley.

Or for her father’s truly heinous Christmas sweater.

Or how well it fits in with the other theater patrons.

And she absolutely was not prepared to walk into this place to see Julie Freaking Molina—former best friend, back stabber, and biggest, dumbest rival of all time—rearranging cables up on that stage covered in a truly astounding amount of glitter, sequins, rhinestones and—and—she looked like an over excited child had dressed her with a disco ball for inspiration. Carrie thought, with the number of stage lights and Christmas lights up there reflecting off of Julie, that she might actually be in physical pain from being forced to witness this fashion tragedy.

“Dad,” she caught her father’s arm. “Please, and I say this with only love, tell me this isn’t the concert you pulled me away from work for?”

She is shocked by the confusion on her father’s face. “I thought you and Julie were friends?”

Is she going into actual shock? Is that what’s happening now? Shouldn’t someone be bringing her a blanket and a hot cocoa and telling her she’s safe now?

Oh my god.

She pulls a couple of pairs of sunglasses out of her clutch and hands one to her dad, nodding and smiling graciously to a middle aged mom and her kid in matching reindeer sweaters as they walk by, staring. He puts on the sunglasses without question, but still doesn’t seem to be understanding the situation he has just dragged his own precious offspring into.

Carrie gives up.

And then he has the audacity to ask if she wants anything from the snack bar before the concert starts.

She does not.

She suffers through a children’s play, sits stiff and upright through intermission, breathes through the children’s choir, and then the big finale: Julie and The Phantoms, ladies and gentlemen!

She wants so badly to hate it. She really does, because this whole thing is not only an unexpected waste of her time, but also of _Julie’s._ Credit where credit is due, she and her band are _amazing_ , even decked out like a Christmas fun house puked on them. And she’s kind of furious that they’re putting in so much effort for this crazy seasonal exhibition. She turns to say so to her dad, but she jumps when he meets her eyes and he’s in tears and smiling and taking her hand in his.

Carrie has seen her dad emotional on plenty of occasions, but something about this time is different. She swallows her words and gives him a small, uncertain smile in return. He squeezes her hand and doesn’t let go.

She’s suddenly reminded of all the times when she was very small that she begged him to take her to see “The Nutcracker” ballet and he did, holding her hand the whole time. Every musical on Broadway, clear across the country she had to see on opening night. Of every time her school did a holiday play and he came no matter what, or every play or performance she ever took part in and he was there, helping her with her lines, getting her costumes fixed up (or often buying new for the whole cast), donating lighting and sound equipment to the school. Of the contacts and credit cards and support he’s always offered freely for her to put everything she can into the things she loves.

Maybe she wouldn’t have chosen to come here for herself, but today her dad wanted to see this with her. He asked her, came back from tour early to find her, to be here with him for whatever this moment was that he was having.

Okay.

She could be here.

And the final act was really good, anyway.

So maybe some surprises weren’t so bad.


End file.
